What Her Life (and Loss) Taught Me About Grief, Love, and Hope

April 11, 2015.

A day I’ll never forget, but I wish I could.

I must’ve relived that night a thousand times in my head.

Every time it ends the same way.

Ten years ago, I lost my daughter Maddie to suicide. She was 14.

And somehow, ten years later, her name shines light into dark places. Her story, smile, and spark have reached thousands more people than most of us do in a lifetime.

This isn’t a story about tragedy.
It’s about impact. It’s about kindness. It’s about LOVE.
It’s about how one young girl, gone too soon, continues to shape lives, challenge stigma, and inspire change worldwide.

Who Maddie Was, and Still Is

Maddie was curious, funny, loving, and wise beyond her years.
She cared about people deeply, even if she didn’t always show it.
She was silly and sensitive. Hilarius and kind.
She could light up a room, even when she needed the light herself.

Grief has a strange way of sharpening your memory.
I still hear her laugh. I still picture her as my copilot in the car, rhyming off every lyric of every song on the radio. She’d high-five herself if she perfectly maneuvered the “rap” part of Justin Beiber’s “As Long As You Love Me.”

Maddie’s life was short, but her reach was long. It’s been powerful, broad, and lasting.

That matters.

Where the Boys Are Now

Zac and Sawyer are doing well.
They’ve grown into thoughtful, kind, grounded young men, each finding their way, carrying pieces of Maddie with them.
I see her in their smiles.
I see her in how they treat people.
I see her in the quiet moments when we all still miss her but don’t have to say it out loud.

They’ve taught me more about strength than I could have ever imagined.
And I couldn’t be prouder of who they’re becoming.

Where I Am Now: Personally, Professionally, Emotionally

The last 10 years have been the hardest of my life.

I’m not going to lie. It’s ruined me.
Spiritually. Emotionally. Financially. Physically.
Grief like this doesn’t just knock you down. It's like getting hit by a dump truck every single day.

But here’s what I’ve learned:
It’s not a life sentence.
Not unless we choose to let it be.

Maddie gave me something I never expected: inspired purpose.
Through the pain, she’s pushed me into rooms I never imagined being in.
Talking to parents. Sitting with kids. Challenging systems. Asking hard questions. Being unrelenting.

And truthfully, I don’t think I’d still be here without the support I’ve received.
Family. Friends. Strangers. Clients. Colleagues. Other parents who’ve walked this same brutal path.
So many people have wrapped around me over the last decade with love and encouragement.
And I’ve needed every ounce of it.

There were days, whole stretches, when I didn’t want to get out of bed. But I did.
Times when I felt like I was slipping under, for good.
But somehow, some invisible force always pulled me back. Out of harm’s way.

I like to think that was Maddie.
Telling me, “It’s not your time, Daddy.”

She is right.

Where Mental Health Stands Today

So where are we, ten years later?

We’re talking more.
We’re listening better.
Kids know words like “anxiety,” “depression,” and “mental health”. Words most of us never even heard until adulthood.

But we’re still losing too many.
The numbers are still rising in too many communities.
And most schools are still guessing when it comes to emotional support.

We’re moving forward, but not fast enough.

We need more accountability.
We need more student voices.
We need more real conversations and fewer glossy brochures.

That’s why I created MindGrade, a student-led accountability system that evaluates how schools support mental health through the eyes of the kids themselves. I am so proud of this beautiful project and where we will take it.

That’s why I believe in MentorWell, a platform for kids who don’t need a therapist; they need a mentor who listens, cares, and shows up. Someone who can help build their confidence and put them on a helping path while focusing on the elements of emotional intelligence.

And it won’t stop here. We need champions for our kids, kind-hearted people who are tired of all the talk and ready to take real action. Not to change the world overnight, but to become better versions of ourselves. More compassionate. More resilient. More human..

Maddie’s legacy is in all of that.
And it’s just getting started.

What Gives Me Hope

I get emails from parents who’ve opened up with their kids for the first time.

Students say, “Thanks for saying what I didn’t know how to say.”

Our youth need it, and they want it.

I meet young leaders who’ve decided to make mental health their mission.
Not because they have to.
Because they want to.
Because they know it matters.

That gives me hope.

What You Can Do

If Maddie’s story has moved you, here’s what I’d ask:

Talk to your kids tonight, but listen, and don’t speak.
Guide but don’t fix
Ask how they’re really doing.
Don’t be afraid of the hard questions.
Support SEL and mental health programs that actually make a difference, not just the ones with the best marketing.
Say Maddie’s name.
Share Maddie’s story.

Her Name, Around the World

Ten years later, the pain is still real.
But so is the purpose.

We don’t get to choose what breaks us.
But we do get to choose what we build in its place.

For me, it’s this:
Helping families.
Guiding kids.
Raising the grade on mental health.
And sharing Maddie’s name, again and again. And I will until every student, every parent, and every school knows it’s okay to talk.

Maybe she didn’t get to grow up.
But maybe, just maybe, her light helps someone else make it through.

We miss you, Maddie.
We love you.
And we’ll keep going because of you.

Dad xo

Maddie Died by Suicide 10 Years Ago—Here’s What I Want Every Parent to Know